Boys
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Levin deals with the birth of his second child. Sequel to Reason and Light. One shot.


**Boys**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing about Anna Karenina, everything belongs to Leo Tolstoy.

**Rating: **K+

**Summary: **Levin deals with the birth of his second child. Sequel to Reason and Light. One shot.

* * *

Kitty had begun her labour early that afternoon, during lunch. He was halfway through a mouthful of cabbage when she had got up with difficulty, blanching slightly, and said in a matter-of-fact tone, as though commenting on the weather: "Oh, my water broke." His eyes had widened, he had dropped his fork loudly and pushed back from the table so fast the chair had scraped against the floor. Agafya, with surprising agility for someone her age, had sprung from her chair as well and helped Kitty upstairs towards their room. He had made for following them, disoriented and itching to be of service, even if he wasn't quite sure how, but the old servant had pushed him away and given him a dirty look:

"Not now, Master. You will only get in the way."

He'd had no time to feel offended. He was much too worried about Kitty. But, while he had been fretting and trying to work out how exactly to offer assistance, Agafya had managed to engage a few servant girls in fetching hot water, clean scissors, towels and in helping make the bed with fresh sheets. He'd stood gaping for a while, but then he rushed to Kitty's side. She had been commanded by Agafya to walk back and forwards across the room and sometimes came to an abrupt halt, clutching her swollen stomach and recoiling in pain. He watched with alarm the large droplets of sweat that rolled down her flushed face and felt a sinking, horrible feeling in his gut. _He could not lose her._ But how could he help? What could he do to end her pain? She had to go through this, and it would only get worse, he remembered it far too clearly with Mitya's birth. He had hoped she would not go through the same agony again.

Refusing to abandon her in spite of his fears and of Agafya's less than welcoming face, he had stayed staunchly by Kitty's side, holding her hand and watching in distress as she struggled with the pain and drifted in and out of sleep. She had woken suddenly with a scream that had terrified him to the very bones, and he had been unceremoniously – even viciously – kicked from the room then. A great deal of screaming had taken place afterwards. He had tried to answer letters in the meantime, to discuss farm work with his men, he had played absent-mindedly with Mitya, who was with his nurse, he had attempted everything in his power to distract himself from what was occurring upstairs, but had failed. His heart had pounded madly. Despair had swallowed him up. He could not endure her suffering – if something happened to her... and he was left alone, with Mitya... good God, he would not last a day. His beautiful, loving, pious wife could not be snatched from him. Perhaps he deserved punishment; he was far from perfect, but she was not. That was the last thing he remembered doing – praying fervently for Kitty – when one of the girls helping upstairs knocked softly on the door and, when he looked up with a start, bobbed a curtsey.

"The mistress has delivered the child," she announced in a gentle tone. "You may go see her now, if you wish."

His child was born! How had he not heard it? How had he not felt it? Had he truly been so absorbed in his despair? He did not think of inquiring whether it was a boy or a girl, whether the baby or even Kitty were safe. He rushed past the girl, almost knocking her down, and ran upstairs. He burst into the room without knocking to find the glorious sight of his wife, flushed and tired and with damp hair plastered to her face, smiling faintly but happily. Alive. Awake. His heart sunk in deep relief. He offered up a hasty prayer of thanks to God who had seen Kitty safely from the horrid ordeal of bringing a child into the world once more.

Before the bed, Agafya held a small bundle wrapped in woollen blankets. Not a sound escaped from the warm cocoon. His heart lurched in fear once more. But the mulish old servant was smiling, gazing tenderly at the contents of the blankets. All must be well, then. He approached her slowly, daring not breathe, and peeked within, at a pale, triangular little face which more closely resembled the cub of some animal's than a human infant's. He had been repelled by Mitya, and he experienced some apprehension as he gazed at the small, unsightly little thing in Agafya's arms, but then he softened and something warmed in his breast. He did not care that the new child was ugly and so fragile still. He loved it already, whatever it was.

He looked at Agafya in awe. "What is it?" he whispered.

She smiled. "A boy, master. A fine and healthy little fellow if I've ever seen one."

He glanced at his new son again; he did not seem to live up to the picture of health and lustiness conjured up by Agafya. But he did not mind it. He would thrive, he was certain of it. And he was well and Kitty as well also and they were all together. His chest tightened with emotion.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered, kneeling beside Kitty and briefly stroking her dishevelled locks.

She smiled. Thankfully, in spite of her tired visage, she was far more alert and cheerful than she had been after Mitya was born. "Well, but exhausted. I'd forgotten how difficult it is. And it was not even as hard this time." She squeezed his hand lovingly. "You have a new son, Kostya. Are you not happy?"

"I am, very happy," he responded honestly, but then his mind started to churn. It was good to have two boys, certainly; they would be useful, if God was kind, they would be close, and he understood boys. He would know how to handle them. At least, he knew how boys _should_ act. But what about Kitty? One day, as they grew, sons would leave her side permanently and she would be empty-handed with her motherly love going to waste. Perhaps Kitty had wished for a daughter this time; she would understand a girl, she would be close to a daughter and would know how to deal with one, far better than she ever would boys. Should he say how sorry he was that they had not got a girl? But girls were a foreign species to him, frail and delicate and with needs he could not begin to fathom. The notion was suddenly terrifying. And if he worried so much about Kitty, constantly fretting about her health and well-being and happiness, just how much would he fret over a daughter? He could foresee the terror he would undergo if all was not well with a daughter of theirs, if she needed something he could not or did not know how to give. No, perhaps it was for the best. It was settled. They would have no daughters.

"Have you seen him? Isn't he beautiful?" Kitty pressed, smile widening in joy.

He hesitated for a second. "He is. And he will grow more beautiful still."

He liked to think she hadn't noticed anything about his slight vacillation and his tone, but if she had, she did not speak of it. He kissed her clammy forehead carefully. "How shall we name him?"

Kitty's smile became compassionate and she touched his face. "I was thinking Nikolai. I know how much you loved him, in spite of all your misunderstandings. Our son will have a fresh start in life and honour this name instead of being burdened by it. And I want him to love and be as dearly loved by his own brother."

Surprise hit him; he had not considered that possibility. And then, gratitude. What had he done to deserve her? How could she know exactly what to do to make him happy? He could feel his eyes moistening, but fiercely blinked back tears. "Kolya."

Kitty's face lit up. "Yes."

"But he will have a better life." They gazed at the baby, all but invisible under piles of wool, still in Agafya's arms. She crooned softly to him, rocking him as she did so. When he looked outside afterwards, he was shocked to see pale strands of pink and orange streaking the horizon beyond their window. It was dawn and he had not noticed it. He had not seen the hours go by.

Kitty squeezed his hand to draw his attention and, when she spoke, her voice was maternal and knowing. "You were fretting all this time, weren't you?"

Meekly, he squeezed her hand back. "Only a little."


End file.
